


Tears Are Not Tears

by honeymink



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, HP: EWE, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-11
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-08-14 11:31:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 8,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8011936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeymink/pseuds/honeymink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a land where all is yours. A small collection of drabbles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Visit (HGDM)

Hermione had never been a coward until she had looked into her mother's eyes this morning. There was no reproach, not exactly. But there was this haunted expression ever since she had restored her memories as if she only now understood the power her daughter yielded.

So Hermione had lied – another first – and told her parents she'd spend Christmas Eve with the Weasleys. Yet as much as she wanted to see Ron, she couldn't stand sitting at their table. Not with the whole family basking in the glory of Ginny marrying the Chosen One.

And finally Hermione had never thought of herself as cruel. Certainly not like Pansy, or Ginny lately. Still, she couldn't deny that this had been the sentiment that had driven her here tonight.

"Still keeping house-elves, I see." She had a mocking smile on her lips and her tone was gently deprecating. "And this must be the fine table, you entertained Voldemort at."

"Indeed, my dear Miss Granger," said Lucius Malfoy, a malicious glint in his grey eyes. "And how very splendid that we now get to spoil you, feeding you delicacies here. You see, we do not have many guests these days."

"Truly a pity," Hermione conceded. Her voice lost its silvery tone. "With all the hospitality you have to offer."

Earlier she had chosen a sleeveless black silk dress from Narcissa's ample wardrobe. It left her white arms exposed, and the fading scars that read 'Mudblood'. When she had entered the hall of the Manor, it had taken all her strength not to gaze at the spot on the marble floor where she had been tortured only a few months ago.

After the soup there was pheasant in a fancy tower, and then carp in a creamy white sauce. Pudding was crêpes Suzette, prepared at the table, and then set alight, so that shocking short bursts of flame flared across the silent dining room.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Draco clenching a silver fork in his fist and Narcissa taking nervous sips of Sauternes from a sparkling crystal glass. A cold draft of air touched Hermione's arms.

"It is a shame though, that your conversational skills appear to have suffered considerably," she remarked incidentally. "Surely it could not always have been that way or else you would have bored your Dark Lord to death before Harry even had a chance to strike him down."

Lucius just stared at her, his pale eyes bulging a little, and a haughty look gradually traversed his face. Evidently it was still most undesirable for him that they should be on any terms with her but those of frigid courtesy.

So Hermione got up and walked around the table. Casually she ran her fingers through Draco's sleek hair as she had seen Pansy do many times.

"I find myself so dreadfully bored. You surely wouldn't mind if Draco showed me his bed, would you?"

A noise of protest rattled and died in Narcissa's throat.

"Of course not." While his eyes hardened, Lucius's voice remained soft and controlled. "It would be my son's sincerest delight."

Hermione nodded, that cruel smile she didn't know she possessed before tonight playing around her mouth. Tomorrow she would go to church with her mother, walking down the alley of rime-white trees in the brightening dawn. Tomorrow she would give Ron the dark grey sweater she had knitted for him. Tonight she would fuck Draco beneath luxurious green satin sheets.


	2. The Taste Of Jealousy (HGCC/HGGW)

"Why her?" Ginny said fiercely and her lip trembled. "You know, she was jealous of you when she was with Harry. And she despised you for that parchment jinx."

Discovering Cho in the shower, Ginny had been furious and stormed downstairs, slamming the door behind her. Couldn't that girl lock the door? What if it had been Harry walking in on her? And why was she lathering her perky little breasts with Hermione's orange blossom soap?

"That was years ago," said Hermione sensibly, while putting down her cup of pale tea.

"Oh, don't start acting as though you don't understand," snapped Ginny. "And you haven't answered me!"

The slight mockery of Hermione's eyes made Ginny blush to the roots of her flaming hair and frown.

"Her conversation is very stimulating and animated. She's very clever really," Hermione smiled. "Pretty and feminine –"

Not wanting for her friend's logic to work on her, Ginny's frown deepened as Hermione went on about Cho's glossy black hair and soft sweet smelling skin…

"… and her pussy has the most delightful tangy taste."

Ginny choked on her tea, her face burning.

"Why are you jealous, Ginny?" asked Hermione, slyly amused. "Just think about it."

Then she left, probably to join Cho in the shower and fuck her in glorious and cramped abandon. Ginny snorted, stubborn and a trifle sulky. She would _not_ think about it! Instead she had porridge for breakfast, and eggs and bacon, and tangy marmalade.


	3. Letting Go (HGLL)

Circling motions rubbed the Scar Removal Paste into her arm. Gentle white fingers over the red scabbed-covered carving that read 'Mudblood'. Hermione looked away and out of the window. She would not cry. A salt breeze blew in from the sea.

Finally the hand stroked down her arm, over her stomach, under her borrowed chemise, where it was joined by a hungry mouth.

"What are you doing?" Hermione asked, apathetic.

The touch alone told her, those fingers were bonier, those lips thinner than they once were.

"Kissing you better."

The girl's voice had lost some of its dreaminess. And her tongue probably wasn't as pink anymore.

"A sound mind makes a healthy body," said Luna.

Hermione snorted, then moaned. Because regardless of her own suffering, Luna's tongue knew where to lick and her lips knew where to suckle. And finally Hermione felt tears slide down her cheeks… because she felt… she felt again.


	4. Rubbing Along (BZDT)

"This is quite illegal, y'know?" muttered Dean, craning his long neck to take in the fern green Axminster fully.

It was of course exquisite like everything in the Zabinis' Mayfair townhouse. Very unlike the small flat he still shared with his Muggle half-sisters near Upton Park.

"Inherited from one of my many stepfathers, I'm sure," said Blaise, wearing a nonchalant and careless air. "Besides how particular are you really about the rules?"

He filled two glasses with Strega – surely most appropriate, his mother being a famously beautiful witch and all. The dark hairs on the back of Dean's neck rose. Apparently Zabini knew that he had enchanted the football at West Ham's last game against Chelsea. And made more than a few quid placing a bet at the local pub.

"You don't expect me to answer that," said Dean gloomily as he sat down in a luxurious leather armchair. "So what is it? Spit it out!"

Then he took a gulp of the searing liquor, which tasted like saffron, mint and fennel. Some kind of cake really. There was something about it. Only then did he recall watching an old movie with his mum and remembered...

_Oh blimey!_

"Once you drink Strega together, you will never drink it apart." Blaise took a sip, pulling his lips into a sneer as he swallowed. "Now then, show me your cock and stroke it a bit, do you mind?"

Dean coughed into his fist. "I put a charm on a football, you own a flying carpet. If this is about a report to the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office, I'd say we're at an impasse, Zabini."

"How can you be so absurd, Thomas?" Blaise exhaled in between a derisive laugh and a sigh, then he went on to unbutton his own casual yet expensive trousers. "Not to kiss and tell, but I've been having it off with Parvati for a few months now. Yet broom cupboards and the like are so frightfully common. You see my dilemma?"

"Can't say I do," replied Dean coolly, observing Blaise as he stroked his cock slowly.

"Well, you see, I should like to take her on a proper date." Blaise's long slanting eyes tightened a little. "However, her parents will not allow it unless her sister has a date as well."

Dean raised his eyebrow. The wealth, the high cheekbones, that beautiful cock… it wasn't hard to work out how Zabini got with the best-looking witches in the year. Well, one of them anyway. And he seemed to offer the other up to him.

"All right. Say I take up with Padma," Dean shrugged, trying to hide his growing excitement. "Why ask to watch me beat the meat?"

Blaise's eyes twinkled slyly but he kept an arrogant face. "While my bed is quite large, I'd still like to make sure that we'll all rub along nicely."

A broad smile broke on Dean's face.

"Let's make sure we do then," he said and took out his cock.


	5. The Game (BZFD)

Even without turning around, he could feel Pansy watching, waiting for him to trip up. But the pictures of her snogging Hermione Granger were safely concealed and hidden away. Ready to be taken out whenever he needed a favour.

While she surely suspected, he had always been careful when sucking off Draco in the showers. Not that it happened much anyway these days, Draco being so bloody busy with his idiotic Death Eater duties. And yet, Pansy was circling him like a vulture. Apparently aware of his sexual frustrations, she baited him with inappropriate matches like the Weasley girl.

So Blaise had made a list. It was strategy really. A girl merely slightly unsuitable, it'd take a rise out of Pansy but in the end she could not shame him. The object of his however temporary affection would have to be: pureblood, reasonably pretty of course, preferably a Gryffindor not involved in Potter's shenanigans. Funny how that left him only with one option from Granger's dorm.

"Taking my advice on Weasley?" Pansy sneered as he got up from the Slytherin table after breakfast.

Knowing it'd annoy her, Blaise smiled slyly, "Now that would be telling."

Secure in his good looks, he walked over to the Gryffindor table. Allegedly the girl kept a Beater bat at the foot of her bed and a banner reading "Constant Vigilance" on the wall behind it. But thanks to his mother he knew how to handle dangerous women.

Fay's eyes were a piercing blue and she wore her uniform so tidily, he wondered whether her suspender belt was starched and ironed.

Blaise gave a tiny little cough, then an amused smirk as he drew her attention. "Are you free tonight, Dunbar?"

"And what for, Zabini?" Fay asked, her tone even.

Swiftly, he grabbed her butt with both hands and pulled her into a dirty kiss. Shocked gasps echoed through the Great Hall, one of them surely belonging to Pansy.

A Cheshire cat smile curled Blaise's lips as he ran a finger over Fay's swollen lips, his other hand under her robes. Indeed the suspenders under her crisp black skirt were definitely starched.

"More mutual tongue work," he finally suggested.

The look on her face was a curious mixture of languor and zest.

"Perhaps," she said slowly as she contemplated him. "If you beat me at Gobstones."


	6. An Ode To Repentance (SSRL)

“Wonder if I spit in it?” sneered Snape, frowning at Lupin’s pallid profile.

Lupin gave a snort. He knew he did. Could smell it in fact. Part of being a werewolf and all. One more day until the full moon. One more day and his claws and teeth could rip Snape apart. But of course he would never do that. He was chastened after all, reformed surely… still atoning for James’s and Sirius’s cruelty. And his own silence.

“I trust you, Severus,” he said pleasantly, ignoring the vicious expression twisting Snape’s sallow face.

“Do you, Remus?” Snape asked silkily and his mouth curled into a mocking smile.

He watched him gulp down the Wolfsbane Potion and place the vial on the rickety table, where his tatty robes already sat in a crumpled heap. A candle filled lamp hung from the ceiling, casting a dim light, as Snape motioned Lupin over to the threadbare sofa.

“Well, well… lean over, spread your cheeks then.”

Naturally he complied. In the end it was part of his monthly penitential pilgrimage to Spinner’s End. The sitting room felt like a dark padded cell. Lupin gritted his teeth and held his position as he listened to Snape unbuttoning his crisp black trousers.

“Right then,” he said quietly. “No time for flattery.”

“Really? I was under the impression you knew how much I appreciate your fuckable pink hole and the whorls of thick dark hair surrounding it,” Snape said, sneering. “But perhaps you need me to compose a poem about it?”

A flicker of defiance lit Lupin’s gaunt face. “I think a sonnet would do nicely.”


	7. Before The End (SSGW)

Ginny kneeled beside his bed, next to her wrinkled school uniform.

"Oh Merlin," she moaned, rubbing her slick cunt in a frenzy, careful not to let any of the seed he had spilled inside her escape.

Severus watched her in the grey, ghostly light that filtered in from the adjacent Headmaster's office. His handprints, large and pink, still glowing on her cheek and tits, a bead of sweat slid down her temple as she shivered and came violently.

It was the beginning of April. For months he had wondered what inner torment made her goad him into these detentions. But now that the end was near, it hardly seemed to matter anymore. If everything went to plan he'd be dead and she'd be with Potter.

"You want the potion or a contraceptive charm?" drawled Severus with the faintest sneer.

"Neither," said Ginny, outraged. "I'm an honest slut."

It was the same answer every time.

***

The last week of April, Poppy Pomfrey walked up the stairs to the office, he still couldn't quite think of as his.

"Ginny Weasley is pregnant," she said soberly. "Who is going to inform her parents?"

He looked at the mediwitch, his face stern and set. "I will. Thank you, Poppy."

***

Ignoring the stares and whispers in the Great Hall, his grip on her arm was firm as he dragged her from the breakfast table. A thin hiss escaped Ginny's throat, as he pushed her into an alcove behind the statue of Lachlan the Lanky.

"Too bad I won't be around to see your skirts tighten and your swollen breasts and belly strain against your thin cotton shirts," he sneered as his hand slid under her skirt and found her cunt already wet.

"Because you'll be dead," Ginny taunted a bit cruelly, tossing her long red hair out of her face and glaring at him. "One last shag then?"

"Certainly," he said coldly.

Then he unbuttoned his crisp black trousers, pushed her up against the wall and thrust into her.

The Dark Lord was deep in preparations for the final battle. Five more days, give or take. Severus had thought about this. If against all odds Potter lost, she'd have the protection of his name. If not… well, she seemed to get off on the humiliation.

"We'll Floo to the Ministry now," he said in a bored voice once they had finished, his black eyes fixed on Ginny. "A short ceremony, I should think. Of course you're not quite of age yet but I doubt they'll deny one of the most prominent Death Eaters, do you?"

Ginny shook her head and said nothing as he took her hand.

Leaning down once more, Severus kissed her temple and whispered softly, "Then I'll deliver you to your parents and you explain to them what a depraved pregnant little slag you are."

Shivering with perverse excitement, Ginny gnawed at her bottom lip and nodded.


	8. And After (SSGW/SSRL)

There’s a rusty ring around the edge of the clawed bath. Its white porcelain is cracked and the tap drips, drips, drips. He gives himself a glance in the mirror, then looks down at his black shoes, which have lost their shine much like the glazed tiles. 

“Shall I turn on the bath for you?” 

Her voice comes through the door. For a moment he considers this.

“No, don’t bother,” he says, settling himself on the edge of the tub.

Trousers pulled down to his knees, he closes his eyes and tries to think… think of Lupin.

***

He had parted with his recipe for wolfsbane potion months ago, yet Lupin came by every fortnight. 

“Well, well, well,” said Severus, his thin mouth a mocking grimace in the darkness. “Back again, I see. Pray tell, Remus, any chance for a quick romp? Of course they bound my hands, lest I weave a spell to free myself. But perhaps that appeals to you?”

The dank salty air of the cell clung to his skin. No Dementors anymore, yet cheerful thoughts were hard to come by. This was still Azkaban in the end.

“Come off it,” Lupin muttered a little bitter, and perhaps he realised it, for he smiled more warmly as he went on. “We are married men after all.”

Last night Severus had dreamt… dreamt of her. The weight of his chains, the clumsiness of her swelling body, his head softly pillowed on her thighs. It had felt so real. And when he woke he was overcome by cold and dread.

“Ah yes, my four days of conjugal bliss where I did not see my sweet young wife at all,” Severus snorted a brief, humourless laugh. “And you, suddenly so faithful. Indeed, most admirable. Of course, you aren’t a lot of use to Nymphadora in her current state, but the gesture is undoubtedly fine.”

Lupin cleared his throat. “Severus, you should really – ”

“Not take advice from you, Remus?” His black eyes gleamed with resentment. “I agree, wholeheartedly.”

No doubt, the marriage was null and void. There was no need to read her letter.

***

Four years later, after no trial but with an evasive letter of apology and reasonable compensation – or so Lupin assured him, he found himself released. 

“I tried to reason with Harry but with what happened with Gin–”

Severus cast him a withering glare, not wanting to hear about Potter’s great influence.

Donning his own freshly pressed clothes and a trip to the barber’s had helped enforce certain standards of decency and dignity. And yet there was a feeling of disquiet as he crossed the Atrium of the Ministry. Seeking control, Severus took refuge in arrogance, a look of contempt spreading across his face.

“Here to get your wand back?” grunted the seemingly bored wizard at the security desk and promptly placed it on the brass scale, which read out the specifications on a narrow piece of parchment. “Fourteen inches, dragon heartstring… ach who cares? Sign here.” 

So he did and turned around and he saw… he saw her.

“I tried to tell you,” said Lupin bleakly.

Severus stared into her bright brown eyes, took in her vivid flaming hair that was braided into a crown, looked over the simple black cotton dress with the small ruffle trim. 

“Greet your father like I taught you,” she said, a chill in her voice.

Two little witches with black hair and pale skin curtsied a bit unsteadily in their Mary Janes and grey wool pinafores. 

It was a fearful shock seeing this result of his weakness. Suddenly he felt quite defenceless against a natural sorrow. But he refused to break. So he took a step forward and kissed Ginny’s cheek.

“Truly, my love,” he whispered cruelly, a mocking expression twisting his thin, sallow face. “Did I not teach you enough to brew some pennyroyal tea?”

***

A strange storm came down from the North and tore out the leaves from the pear tree behind the dilapidated brick house. He couldn’t believe he was back in Spinner’s End, back in his childhood room with its bare walls, narrow bed, chipped chest of drawers and the rickety desk and chair. 

Turning away from the dull and blind window and the darkness beyond it, Severus asked in dismay, “Have you no toys?” 

His daughters shook their little heads. Timid as they seemed, they kept a wary eye on him ever since they had met this afternoon. It was… unsettling. 

“We did,” one of them finally said wistfully before the other continued, “But gran said, if mother insists on living with you, you must buy us new ones.”

“I see.” His lips curled into a sneer.

After four years the first magic he’d perform, was to Transfigure a cushion into a rag doll. It was grotesque, perfectly absurd, even comical. He was sure there were a fair amount of words for it. But his daughters chose…

“So pretty!” they whispered and pointed at the doll’s pink hair. “She looks like Tonks!”

In a flash of bitter insight, he realised how much he did not know because he had silenced Lupin every time. Severus gave them a swift, piercing look. Yet they did not cower away from him, merely gnawed at their little bottom lips and continued to watch him intently.

“Blasted thing!” He threw the doll to them and wondered when Ginny would finally be done with the washing up. The sudden silence made him uncomfortable. Perhaps he had been too harsh. So he asked silkily, “What else did your gran tell you?”

“That you are an evil man and your mother was a princess.” 

Their words were reverent and solemn. Severus gave a little snort, but did not have the heart to correct them.

***

“Not even hard yet?” she says in a voice tinged with derision and he looks at the hand in his lap.

The tap still drips, and a green stain wriggles all the way down the white porcelain into the plughole. Reaching between his thighs, she grabs his prick and starts rubbing. Heat spreads through his body, part embarrassment, part arousal. Not long and she hikes up her dress, climbs astride him and lowers herself on his cock.

The muscles in her thighs and cunt hold him in a tight grip. Her hand tugs at his hair, cranking his head back. Every keening little noise she makes hits him like a willow switch. He thinks of a time when he had spanked and slapped her for both their pleasure. And finally, he comes.

“Still an honest slut, I take it?” he asks viciously.

She answers, smiling in much the same way. “Of course.”

Rubbing her slick cunt in a frenzy, Ginny is looking at him steadily now. Severus however, finds it difficult to look back at her. It is like gazing into a brilliant light. A bead of sweat slides down her temple as she shivers and comes violently.

“Did life make you this cruel?” he asks.

She leans slightly forward and kisses his cheek. “No, you did.”

Closing his eyes, he nods and thinks… thinks that he loves Ginny.


	9. Walking After Midnight (HP/RW)

For a moment Ron had almost been fooled. Hermione, of course, would have put that much more nicely. Benefit of the doubt or some tosh! But Hermione lay there, snuggled up to him after quite an excellent shag and made little snuffling noises as she slept. 

Meanwhile Ron was alone, facing trouble that was fast approaching. Well, perhaps not so fast but with deliberately clumsy steps. Their first year at Hogwarts, Seamus had been sleepwalking. Yes, his eyes had been open but his movements had been smooth and natural. Very unlike this display of studied awkwardness.

“So good, you smell so good,” murmured Harry as he lay down and pressed his hard-on into Ron’s thigh.

Well, he had used Ginny’s bergamot-sage-boxwood soap earlier. Insecurity spread across Ron’s face. Perhaps he had been wrong after all and his friend really didn't know what he was doing. Harry buried his nose in Ron’s hair, inhaling deeply. Ron stiffened and clenched his fists against his sides. Fine – Ginny was somewhere in the Welsh countryside, intensive training with the Harpies and Harry was lonely. Emotional range of a teaspoon or not, he sort of understood that. But still...

“Hermione, why aren’t you awake when I need you,” muttered Ron under his breath.

That’s when he felt the tongue in his ear and the hand between his legs. Oh, he was sure now! Harry feigned sleep and moaned.

_Merlin's beard!_

Ron coughed, sharply. “Bloody hell, Harry! Really laying it on thick, aren’t you?”


	10. The Practical Bit (HG/LB/PP/FD)

Usually she was all for House unity and she didn't want to blame McGonagall. Not really. But being outdone by Hufflepuffs when it came to knowledge even if it wasn't N.E.W.T. material? Well, that stung! Over the hols her mother had given her 'The Talk' and to Hermione's surprise it had been very different from her Head of House's customary fifteen minute speech.

Eager to share these insights, she had assembled the girls from the Gryffindor sixth year dorm. And so they sat there only in their standard cotton knickers on the fluffy red carpet passing around a bottle of Heather Cream as Hermione told them about the incredible things one could indulge in and didn't necessarily need a boyfriend for…

"Wow, you really like your studying, don't you?" sighed Lavender.

Then Hermione said an astonishing thing. "But studying isn't everything…"

"You mean there's a practical bit?" asked Parvati in a hushed voice.

Meanwhile Fay had lost her shyness and said with girlish enthusiasm, "I think you practise for Quidditch!"

When Lavender's pink tongue licked a bit of the sweet liqueur from her bottom lip, Hermione felt a decadent thrill as she imagined dumping the whole bottle over Lavender's naked body.

"So how do we do that?" Parvati played nervously with the sparkling hairslide at the end of her plait.

Lowering her eyes, Hermione could make out Lavender's dripping slit through the thin white fabric of her knickers and almost felt her nether lips swell in arousal. A look of great excitement suddenly dawned on Hermione's face.

"Off with our knickers, ladies. Daisy chain!"


	11. Sweet Treats (FDAJ)

Baking a Bûche de Noël, Angelina realised, involved a whole lot of licking. Chocolate ganache from spoons, coffee butter cream from bowls, and a trail of raspberry jam from Fleur’s swanlike neck down to her perfect breasts.

“Zat eez intolérable,” sighed Fleur as Angelina's tongue reached her rosy nipple.

A convulsive shudder passed through her and her great blue eyes widened. 

“Calm down, cherry bomb!” Angelina gave a low chuckle. “It keeps Molly in the living room.”

In truth, she found Celestina Warbeck quite dull herself but between ‘A Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Love’ droning from the Wizarding Wireless and the constant ebb and flow of the sea outside Shell Cottage, they didn’t even need a Muffling charm.

Pushing the light blue dress up and cream silk knickers out of the way, Angelina’s fingers teasingly grazed across Fleur’s wet centre. 

“Putain!” moaned Fleur loudly. “Ça ne sert à rien. Please leeck my pussy, Angelina!”


	12. Rewards (SSGW)

It was two weeks before Christmas when Boot and Bones managed to explode a cauldron with their Erumpent Potion. A disappointing mess for sure. One they would have to clean up in detention. Leaning against the ladder in the Potions cabinet, Severus groaned and unbuttoned his crisp black trousers. Only half an hour until those dunderheads would bother him again.

In desperate need of some sort of release, he closed his eyes and stroked his cock. Letting his thoughts wander… wander to Lily, her shiny green almond-shaped eyes looking at him lovingly through a warm candle lit mist. A moan of relief escaped his hoarse throat as he felt a different tension building in his balls. He was ready… ready to come when –

The door banged open and a long mane of red hair but a different pair of eyes appeared through the still smoke filled classroom. The girl gave him a long searching look. Were her eyes merely a bright brown or speckled with the blue of a robin egg? His strokes had slowed down. For a moment he was tempted to use an insipid line – "Enjoying the view, love?" – like in the sordid movies his father had used to watch late at night. And then she would simper, "It is so big, sir!"

But of course that was ridiculous. Severus smiled disdainfully.

"Good heavens, Miss Weasley!" he sneered, his fathomless black eyes boring into hers. "How lovely! Here to steal ingredients for Potter from my private stores? What shall it be? More Boomslang skin or Gillyweed perhaps?"

"Eels' eyes actually," she said lightly. "And it has nothing to do with Harry. It's for Professor Umbridge's tea."

Despite himself, Severus's eyes narrowed. "Really?" he asked maliciously. "Well, far be it from me to not help out a valued colleague."

Searching the shelves, he finally found a small vial of Bulgeye Potion and handed it to the girl. Ginny gave him a glance and the shadow of a dry but agreeable smile flickered across her mouth. Severus realised that his right hand was still wrapped around his half-hard cock. In a sudden movement, Ginny grabbed his wrist, and started to build a rhythm.

He gasped for breath and hissed, "This is –"

"For your sympathy and understanding," she said, the corners of her mouth twitching.


	13. The Proposal (HPPP)

“Pansy, please,” whispered Daphne anxiously. Her lime green wimple slightly askew, a strand of her lovely blonde hair stuck to her sweaty forehead. “Take the ring before Potter swallows it.”

It was quite the monstrosity really. Huge and gold encrusted with rubies and diamonds. 

“Thanks awfully,” crooned Pansy vaguely with only a hint of sarcasm as the ring found its way on her finger.

“D’you reckon he’s playing a trick?” said Weasley suspiciously. “Bound to be, isn’t it. And not a funny one, mate!”

“Now Ron, Pansy isn’t all bad,” Neville tried to be helpful. “Besides, my great uncle says every man who marries, marries the wrong woman.” 

Meanwhile Granger patted Weasley’s hand in a mollifying fashion. Pansy fearfully wanted something to smoke. This morning she had dressed in her favourite lace mini dress, very pleased with the idea of going to St. Mungo’s and taunting Potter with naughty promises, she wasn’t very intent on keeping. Three hours later and she found herself in one of his intervention or therapy sessions, apparently engaged from the looks of the bulky family heirloom on her hand. Was that a lion’s head? Had she even said yes? Well, she must have. Pansy felt suddenly faint.

“It’s just such a tremendously serious decision he’s taking!” Granger shot a slightly nervous look at Harry.

“Come off it, ‘Mione!” groaned Weasley. “You're bloody joking me. You said yourself she’s thicker than a concussed troll.”

Tears by now were struggling with Pansy’s anger. This was not how she had imagined her engagement to come about. Not that she had thought much about marriage since that awful business with Draco and his father.

Meanwhile Granger blushed furiously under her tan. “That was years ago…”

“Golly, you are not going to let this old news get in the way of a little charity?” asked Pansy, who had regained her sly smirk. “How very grand, 'Mione! You must be my bridesmaid then. And Daphne of course.” 

Pansy turned and exchanged a slightly ironic smile with her old friend from Slytherin days. A trifle shaky, she got up and lit a cigarette. Its glimmer was strangely sinister. Lightly, she kissed Potter’s cheek and took one long pull on her cigarette. 

“I shall ask Cho, too,” she said, perhaps a bit viciously. “Now… so much to plan. I better go!”

Ron stared after her, a surly frown spreading across his freckled face. “Completely barmy and idiotic!” he muttered under his breath, but Hermione thought the only thing that was a bit idiotic was the happy grin plastered on Harry’s face.

***

Later that night, Pansy lay in bed, thinking. Whether Potter had lead in his pencil, well, that was one thing Pansy was frightfully curious about indeed. Perhaps if she asked Cho, but then that might be awkward. Well, she’d still make him wait till their wedding night. Spite was as good a reason for chastity as any.

Frankly, it could be worse. There were no tiresome in-laws to consider, he was rich, surely he’d get used to pleasing her and recently he’d even made her smile more than once. He was so easy to rile up after all.

Potter… now, she should really get used to calling him Harry… had almost had another fit when she had announced her choice of bridesmaids. Pansy giggled to herself, for truly it had been the most satisfactory part of her day.


	14. The Shopping Trip (PP/HG/CC/DG)

‘Twillfit and Tattings’ in Diagon Alley was both exclusive and high priced. Madam Rossini’s talents were well sought after, and her mother raved about their good fortune to get an appointment on such short notice. While the dressmaker and her assistants bustled about, Pansy realised it was increasingly difficult to find dresses to make her look as she liked to. After all, what did it mean to be Mrs. Potter? What would be expected of her?

Her silver silk dress had a long train and Cho, who was the most excited, screamed with joy, “Oh it suits you wonderfully. How exquisite!” 

Pansy nodded, distant and unfocused. It was a far cry from her frilly Yule ball gown. But perhaps that was only right. 

So Cho did her hair up, promising to intertwine it with flowers on the day. Meanwhile Daphne looked through the bridesmaid dresses and Granger (she should really call her Hermione now) was heavily sunk in one of the spacious armchairs, sipping her third glass of Champagne. 

“I’m awfully sorry, ‘Mione. I know you would have liked to snog sweet little Astoria senseless in the changing room,” said Pansy viciously. 

Hermione graced Pansy’s remark with a casual flick of her eyes. “Are you really? I remember you rather enjoyed it when we snogged.”

As Cho and Daphne unsuccessfully suppressed their giggles, Pansy blushed and tried to look severe.

“Oh as if you two haven’t done the same,” she snapped at them. 

Her cheeks burnt, she was fearfully thirsty. But as cross as she was with them at the moment, they had yet to pick something for the bridesmaids.

“Golly! There are some dresses here I know you’d approve of madly,” said Daphne, cheerful and undeterred by her outburst. “This one looks rather fine!”

It was a dark green flapper dress, embroidered with little silver snakes that were obviously charmed to slither along the seam. Both Cho and Hermione shuddered a bit.

“I’m afraid we must have very different definitions of the word,” muttered Hermione.

Pleased by that reaction, Pansy considered it, but doubted it would give Potter enough of a fright. Nostalgia proved inspiring.

“Lovely. But I rather think, the dark blue one over there,” she gestured to the shop assistant. “The one in raw silk.”

They stared at her in disbelief. Pansy smirked. Though her bridesmaids were a bunch of annoying little cunts, her parents would have had to pay for so much extra fabric had she asked Millicent and Tracey. 

“None of you will look ugly in blue,” she said dismissively. 

And with any luck Harry would be uncomfortably reminded of their night in the Ravenclaw compartment on the Hogwarts Express. 

A little cluster of brass bells tinkled lightly, interrupting her thoughts. The door to the dress shop was opened and in came Lucius Malfoy, elegantly dressed and meticulously groomed, wielding his ebony cane.

He just stood there, sneering as he looked around. Pansy went rather pale. His cold grey eyes settled on her mother who was looking for a dress of her own.

“Dear me, I dare say you have my deepest condolences, Lucina!” said Mr. Malfoy as he strode over to her. “Marriage to Potter of all things? Of course his vault at Gringotts is well filled.”

It gave her mother a momentary shock, as she stood there speechless.

“Poor Pansy,” he continued in a sympathetic tone but with a nasty smile. “Well, at least Draco was her first. She will always have that.”

“Why Lucius, that is –” her mother started but was interrupted immediately.

“I’m afraid I must take my leave,” said Mr. Malfoy, not sounding sorry at all. “I am only to pick up some undergarments for Narcissa.”

It was all so embarrassing. Pansy turned away. The tears streaming from her weary eyes, she thought she saw sparks fly from wands. Red, blue and green.

Suddenly Lucius Malfoy seemed very uncomfortable, and as he left the shop quite unable to regain his composure.

 _Oh well_ , Pansy thought, smiling a bit to herself. _They may be cunts but at least they are mine._

***

Hermione, Cho and Daphne stood outside ‘Twillfit and Tattings’, leaning close to the wall so that the roof would keep them dry. Pansy and Mrs. Parkinson were still settling things with the dressmaker. The rain came down in sheets now. They passed one of Pansy’s cigarettes around until Hermione broke the silence.

“So what did you use?” she asked and blew a cloud of smoke through her nostrils.

“Well, you know at St. Mungo’s we recently developed this spell that has the same effect as the Muggle blue pill,” said Daphne, a bit embarrassed, as she put a strand of her blonde hair behind her ear.

“Nothing quite so elaborate, I’m afraid,” said Cho. “Just a shrinking charm.”

They looked expectantly at Hermione.

“Itching jinx, the long lasting variety” she smiled and passed the cigarette to Daphne. “You know, perhaps we haven’t been the best bridesmaids. Let’s take Pansy out for a night on the town.”

***

As fast as decorum allowed, Lucius Malfoy made his way down Diagon and Knockturn Alley. It turned out quite a feat not to scratch his groin every other second. People greeted him, wanting to engage him in the usual gossip about the Ministry, something he was normally quite amenable to. Not today though. Gritting his teeth he finally made it to Severus Snape's apothecary across 'Borgin and Burkes'.

His cock was tiny with a painful erection and the horrible itching on top of that. He simply couldn't stand it any longer. The itch wanted to be scratched.

"Lucius, what can I do for you?" said Severus in a smooth yet mocking voice. 

Seeing as no other customer was in the shop, Lucius dropped his trousers without preamble. Severus merely raised an eyebrow.

"These little witches attacked me," he gasped. "Look!"

Severus looked coldly at him, then said, "I see no difference."

Lucius let out a whimper.


	15. The Rita Skeeter Exclusive (HPPP)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Text in collaboration with [theimpossiblegeekygrrl](http://archiveofourown.org/users/theimpossiblegeekygrrl/).


	16. The Wedding Present (HPPP)

"Finally ready to give it up, Pa–?"

But he just caught himself in time. A snide giggle escaped her throat. His hopes for the handjob she had promised almost a year ago, rapidly fading. By Merlin! Shouldn't she be flattered to be treated as a little bit of fluff? On Monday, he would have to ask his Healer about that.

Harry frowned at her – Pansy Potter – dressed in a new silver gown with small emerald buttons and a gauzy white overdress. She wore her hair up, intertwined with the sweet flowers for which she was named. It did not fool him.

"Certainly," she smirked, sizing up his naked form on the four-poster bed. "You want to beget an heir after all."

After the ceremony at the Ministry they had Apparated straight into his bedchamber at Grimmauld Place. Because in the end, Madam Black's portrait approving of his bride would have felt like a shameful betrayal of Sirius.

"Before I undress," she smiled, her eyes lowered with false demureness. "My wedding present to you, darling. Hermione thought it would be perfect."

A suspicious look spread across his face, when he took the ebony box from Pansy's warm hands and opened it. Shocked Harry gasped, staring at the gold butt plug with the soft deer tail that lay on a red silk cushion.


	17. Sorted (LM)

The black kitten mewled in the girl's arms. Her grandmother had given it to her. Perhaps to make up for her parents having to work and her grandfathers taking her to the train on this fine autumn day. Of course she loved them both but really! The embarrassment!

"You're a Malfoy," Grandfather Lucius's voice droned over the surrounding clamour of platform 9 ¾. "Of course you will be Sorted into Slytherin!"

Grandfather Anselm shot him a stern look. "And we Abbotts can trace our line back to Helga Hufflepuff herself."

"Dear me," said Grandfather Lucius a bit sourly, wielding his ebony cane with the silver snakehead. "I daresay your mother can teach you all that wholesome kindness over the holidays, girl."

"Or," offered Grandfather Anselm defiantly. "Your father can give you a few lessons in cunning self-preservation."

An incredulous and indignant cough escaped Grandfather Lucius's throat. "A few… a few lessons?" 

Merciful Morgana! She couldn't wait to get to Hogwarts and have the Hat sort this issue once and for all.

***

The next day an Eagle Owl arrived at the Leaky Cauldron. Draco pressed Hannah's hand reassuringly under the table as her father took the small piece of parchment that was tied to the owl's foot and unrolled it. A frown appeared on his face, then the letter was impatiently snatched from his hands.

Lucius Malfoy went very pale indeed as he read the one word written in his granddaughter's impeccable cursive.

 _Ravenclaw_.


	18. Wiles And Lures (HGAG)

“What are you on about?” said Ron scathingly before he gulped down yet another helping of Spotted Dick. “You need to sort out your priorities! Besides, a Slytherin taking grinds from a Gryffindor! What if she’s a spy for them?”

Blatantly, he pointed at the Slytherin table where Malfoy sat with his Inquisitorial Squad.

“What a load of tosh! Neither she nor her sister is with them. And she’s only a third year!” scoffed Hermione, her eyes flashing. “Also, it was all Professor Flitwick’s idea.”

Ron shrugged, unconvinced. “If you say so.”

Her fury was withering, his voice rising over the pounding of her heart. Hermione took another sip of tea.

***

“Toldar Rore!” said Astoria, underlining the spell with a flick and swish of her wand.

A thick white mist rose from the puddle-covered floor of the prefect bathroom. Hermione nodded approvingly. Of course Ron wouldn’t understand that there were people who actually enjoyed learning… and learning from her at that. 

Astoria took a step closer. “Did I do all right, Hermione?”

Suddenly there was barely a gap between them. How did that happen? The smell of orange blossom and cedar bath crystals hung in the hot damp air. Hermione felt her white blouse sticking to her breastbone. 

“Excellent, really.” 

Hermione blushed as she glanced at Astoria’s small breasts where the wet almost transparent fabric revealed hard light brown nipples.

“Thank you,” Astoria said innocently. “I know it’s just for Charms but couldn’t this also be practical in Defence?”

Hermione raised her eyebrows at her. “I… I couldn’t begin to say.”

“But I bet you could if I signed your parchment,” smiled Astoria and licked her delicately curved lips.

_The cunning little minx..._

Wordlessly, Hermione nodded.

Perhaps Ron had been right after all. It caused in Hermione a dull feeling of resentment. And yet she couldn’t resist the temptation. Couldn’t resist snogging Astoria within an inch of her life. Of course _that_ had not been Professor Flitwick's idea at all.


	19. A Hairy Situation (HGAG/AGDM)

“I should think, he’d jolly soon get suspicious,” Hermione whispered frantically, taking a pinch of Floo powder from the bowl – finest Limoges porcelain of course. 

Astoria giggled, nervous and excited at once. “Close call!”

A moment ago, her sharp ears had caught the sound of a footstep on the marble stairs and she knew Draco was back from his round at the Ministry. Scattering the powder into the fireplace, Hermione stole one last kiss from Astoria and stepped forward. 

“The Burrow,” she said clearly. 

The heat from the fire felt like a warm breeze on Astoria’s skin as her beloved vanished in a whirl of green flames. Not long, Draco made it to the top of the staircase and opened the heavy ebony door to their bedchamber. Her limbs weak and wobbly, Astoria felt the strange enervation of adrenaline and looked in the untidy mess of her dressing-table for her precious lipstick. 

“Had a good day, darling?” asked Draco, in his lightest, coldest tones. “Dear me, I hear you saw fit to invite our dear Mrs. Weasley for… tea?” 

Draco sank into the broad lap of his leather armchair, then rang the little silver bell on the side table for Drippy to bring him a tumbler of Odgen’s. 

“A good thing Scorpius is at school. We wouldn’t want him exposed to your charitable experiments, now.”

Astoria saw his white hands clench and unclench. She tried not to care; and she tried not to smile too much. Experiments indeed! Oh how marvellous Hermione had looked on all fours on the bed, her hair charmed into a neat ponytail that Astoria could pull sharply while spanking her milky white bottom.

“Well, Draco,” she said evenly. “There’s no harm in me having a friend.” Her hazel eyes opened wide; there came a mocking light in them. “I will take a bath.”

***

Driven by suspicion, Draco got up and looked around slowly. A smirk quivered on his pale lips, as he found his wife’s wand on the bedside table.

“Prior Incantato,” he said softly, pointing his wand at hers.

It was, to his relief, a simple beautifying charm. Draco sat down on the bed. There was a frizzy light brown hair on the pillowcase, and the smell of cedar and orange blossoms.

“Look at this! Fussing with each other’s hair,” he sneered scornfully. “Guess the Mudblood still needs all the help she can get.”


	20. The Witch Weekly Scandal (HGAG)




	21. With The Magic Of June (EMRV)

Sounds of sighing could be heard among the leaves, whispers in the limbs of the Whomping Willow. A shiver passed through Neville’s body and Ernie looked at him a bit weary. They were down in the meadow, preparing the latter’s betrothal.

“Oh Ernie, you are good to me,” Romilda had said this fine spring morning. “I’m a lucky girl to have caught a chap like you, aren’t I? Fancy a gillywater?”

“That sounds marvellous, dearest,” Ernie had replied, a trifle sycophantically. “Good notion, I daresay, but I must away.”

Thrusting a flask in his hand, she had giggled quite cheerfully, “Well, take this anyway.” 

He didn’t mistake the gesture for sweetness, knowing she expected marriage. And why not? It was lovely to think one hadn’t got to bother about one’s future. But hardly realistic. Of course, her trying to slip him a love potion to hasten a proposal had become slightly bothersome.

Meanwhile, Neville bumped his head against a pole as he emerged from under the tarpaulin with grass and soil in his hair.

“M’all right,” he muttered, in case his friend cared at all. “About your love tent though…”

But Ernie stared down at the ring with its glittering yellow diamonds and its shiny black tourmalines. A simple spell could transfigure it into a brooch, so his love might wear his token even while working in the infirmary. Impossible that Romilda would not clap her hands in admiration.

“Listen to me, old boy,” he told Neville in a grave and pompous manner. “I know you mean well, but I’m going to marry the blasted woman, and that’s that.”

Great beads of sweat stood on Neville’s forehead as he wiped the palms of his hands on his trousers.

“Just saying, sex outdoors,” murmured Neville, uncomfortably. “Luna and I had… some unpleasant incidents.” And giving Ernie a sidelong look, he lowered his voice, “Devil’s snare and a swarm of doxies were involved.”

“Truly,” said Ernie, his tone genuinely surprised. “But Shield Charms are old hat, especially for us old D.A. lags!”

Neville turned very pink indeed and blinked, embarrassed. A brief glance between his legs made Ernie imagine some nasty bite marks. Not wishing to dwell on it, a decisive flick and swish of his wand finally put everything in place: Poles, trap, lavish rugs and soft silk cushions in brilliant colours. As expected, Neville gasped at this very picture of oriental opulence that shone brightly against the setting sun.

“And it’s not a love tent, my friend,” insisted Ernie, a little piqued, dearly hoping Romilda would be pleased. “I’d rather think of it as a pavilion of passion.”


End file.
